


Clip

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 18:43:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Legolas gives Aragorn a speck of relief.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 2
Kudos: 126





	Clip

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

For several days straight, they’ve done nothing but _run_, barely halting to sleep and eat and other things that should be necessities. It’s necessary if they’re to ever find the hobbits, and they all plan to—Legolas knows that there is no chance of turning back until they know for certain that they’ve done all they can. For the sake of saving friends, he would run much farther, much longer, faster even. But his companions are both of mortal stock, and every so often, they must rest. They putter to another halt, even Aragorn collapsing to his knees. It’s the first time Legolas has seen him show such exhaustion. His body slumps down, head tossing back, lungs beating hard—Legolas can practically hear his racing heartbeat. Several paces behind them, Gimli flops down to the earth. He lies there, face up and broken. 

Aragorn is sweating. Legolas can see it beading on his handsome brow. The air is warm and tepid, but not enough to do this—it’s their own brutal pace that’s heated their skin. Aragorn’s wavy hair sticks to the back of his neck and slicks across his forehead. Knowing the subtle heat and weight of his own hair on the back of his neck, Legolas forms an idea.

He wanders over and bends down. His long fingers slide through Aragorn’s dark, tangled hair, gathering up the damp and curling strands. He can remember a time when it felt silken, smooth and soft across his palms, and Legolas would love massaging soap into the back of Aragorn’s scalp in the privacy of his Imladris chambers. This is very different, but still scintillating in its own right. Mortal hair is different, but fascinating for it. Legolas enjoys twisting Aragorn’s thick mane around his fingers. 

Aragorn mutters, “There is not enough to braid, my friend, and we will not stop so long.”

“I am not braiding it,” Legolas answers. He just gathers it enough to tie, using its own strands to bind it. It isn’t quite as stylish a look as Legolas would like, but he hasn’t the time to fuss with it. It needs a good wash, something Legolas will happily administer himself when they have the opportunity. 

Aragorn tilts further back, peering up at Legolas to idly ask, “How do I look?”

“As handsome as always,” Legolas murmurs. He ducks to kiss Aragorn’s forehead, which tastes of salt and dirt, but is still worth the moment. He loves the wry smile that draws across Aragorn’s bow lips. 

With a long sigh, Aragorn pushes back up to his feet. He admits, “We should go.”

Gimli groans behind them, “I don’t think I will ever move again.” Legolas laughs, part from the dramatics, and part for the sight of Gimli stretched out across the soil. 

Shaking his head, Aragorn walks over. Legolas follows, and they each take one of Gimli’s hands, hiking him back up into the land of the living. Legolas doesn’t offer to tame Gimli’s fierce hair, because that would take a fortnight, and Gimli’s already grunting and jogging sullenly off.


End file.
